


grief thereupon calamity in the presence of children

by TwinKats



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Frisk, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breaking the Mold, Depression, Frisk Just Wants To Be A Kid Again, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Mentally Older Character, Mentions of Genocide Route, Mentions of No Mercy Run, Mentions of Pacifist Route, Mentions of Time Travel, Mentions of resets, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other pairings to be added, Too Much Determination Is Dangerous, Toriel Is Determined, Void interference, Void thoughts, mentions of character deaths, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:58:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: Toriel wanted to save the children who came before, but she couldn’t. Their determination, their tenacity, their very desire to continue on—it lead them to death. Asgore wouldn’t take the next one; Toriel wouldn’t let him. She’d do anything to stop another, needless sacrifice; to stop another death.It helped that this child wanted to stay; they never wanted to stay before. Frisk never wanted to stay before.This time they did.





	1. Chapter 1

Frisk shuddered awake, the sound of cold, pitched, near maniacal laughter rang in their very mind; it echoed with their very being. With a hoarse, not-quite-gasp, they pushed themselves up. They listened to the crinkle of the leaves and flowers beneath them, and then rolled themselves over until they were on their back. Their bangs half covered their face while they stared up at the distant sky, the single ray of sunshine marred by roots and leaves high, high, high above the cavernous prison. 

They laughed, silently, and ran one hand over their face, the side covered by their bangs, and pushed the hair up and away from them. They may have only been a child, roughly six years old, but they’d lived for far longer than that now. Shortly the silent tears followed the silent laughter and Frisk shoved the heels of their hands over the eyes to stop the overflow. Here they were again, at the start of it all, crashed into the flowers beneath Mt Ebott. Here they were again, with the barest of injuries despite their fall, and here they were again in their own personal sort of hell. 

Would it ever end? 

Could it ever end? 

 _Will you ever let me go?_  

Exhaustedly— _how much time passed between their last chance at rest and now_ —Frisk eventually pulled themselves to their feet. They reached out to grasp the stick they found on the mountainside, and then after a second they dropped it to the ground. One hand came up to the side of their head where the band aid pressed against their skin, and with a sharp tug they pulled it away. The sting didn’t even hurt; it couldn’t compare to dying over, and over, and over again. They watched the band aid fall from their fingers and into the flowers. 

They stared at them; the stick, the band aid, the signs of the start of their journey. Frisk stared at them, and found within themselves filled with determination— _no_ , filled with _resolution_. Frisk closed their eyes; they affirmed their desire to be free, and they stepped forward. 

They stepped away from the beginning of the **Game**.

* * *

Toriel hummed softly to herself, one paw clasped around a wicker basket that contained everything she needed to tend to the flowers. She hunched down just a bit as she passed through the archway that signified the end of the ruins, and the entrance of the small, little cave that opened up into the word far, far above. Here Chara fell so long ago, and here seven other children followed them. This place stood for more than just an entryway between the underground prison—it stood for all the children Toriel lost over the years.

She visited the place of flowers and leaves, through the small, narrow cavernous passageway, almost daily. She searched for fallen children to tend to, or just to speak with denizens of the ruins who came to see the starlight at night. She came to tend to the flowers, clean the area—to generally relax in a world that seemed dull and lifeless. Each visit affirmed Toriel’s desire to not let another child down, to not let another child die. She’d rather destroy the doorway between the Ruins and Snowdin Forest than be party to another needless death. 

Time passed slowly in the underground some days, but even Toriel knew that between the last human and now over a year went by. Toriel kept a record of their names, their likes, their dislikes—the strengths and weaknesses, temperament—and how long it took them to desire to leave her. How she let them go, and how word of their deaths came to her in the end. The last, Adla, nearly broke Toriel when she received word on what happened. 

The passageway finally opened up into the cavernous room. Toriel kept her gaze up toward the sky, an almost smile across her muzzle. Her grip on the basket tightened for a second, and she took a few steps further into the larger room, when she heard _it_. The strange little flower that didn’t read like a monster normally did, but still felt oddly familiar. 

_“Are you serious right now? Is this your idea of a **joke**!?”_

Toriel sped up her pace at the vehemence in the flower’s words. The only times she ever heard it that angry were the times a human fell. Very rarely did the little thing speak to itself in that manner, although it happened a few times in the recent past that Toriel could remember. She brushed the tree branches out of her way, ears perked slightly to catch any more dialogue—perhaps even a child’s voice. 

 _“You have to be trolling me, you have to! What do you think you’ll accomplish this time, with this, **like this**!? You think you can escape it? **Well why don’t I show you how wrong you are!** ”_ 

Toriel brushed the branches away in time to see the flower ready an attack, a human in front of it with their arms held protectively over their chest. Toriel could see the faint glow of their soul, cradled away from the flower, and without a thought Toriel hocked a fireball in the direction of the flower. It squeaked, the fight bleeding out of it, and promptly retreated with a hissed curse. Toriel set her basket down, knelt until the child came up to roughly her chest, and reached out to look at their wounds. 

“Oh you poor thing,” Toriel started, but before she could say anything further the child launched themselves at her, hands wrapped into her dress. They trembled, and for a moment Toriel froze, unsure of what she should do. For a moment Toriel found herself reminded of Chara—of the times Chara clung to her, crying, of the times Chara found themselves injured and they sought out Toriel for help. Gently Toriel reached down and placed a hand on the child’s back. She let healing magic move through the flesh-and-blood-and-water based form of the human before her. She watched as the cuts and the ailments visible to the eye closed up, and then Toriel sighed.

“Hush, my child,” Toriel murmured. She reached out, picked the little human up into her arms, and turned around. She could introduce them to the ruins properly another day.

* * *

_Well._

_Well._

_Well._

_Now that your **game** is broken, the **path** is removed, what will you do?_

_What will you do, **demon?**_ ****

**_Why should I tell you?_ ** ****

**_Why should I tell anyone?_ ** ****

**_You just stay there like the silent observer you are, and watch events unfold._ ** ****

**_After all, it should be interesting, right?_ ** ****

_…_

_Yes._

_Very._

**_Very._ **

_Interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans awakens, but the promise never comes.

 

Sans’ eye lights flickered on with a faint groan. He peered out at his room, over his hand and semi-flopped position, in the way only a hungover skeleton could. For a moment Sans didn’t move, then he raised one hand to his pounding skull and scrubbed his phalanges through his eye sockets with a grunt. He tried to remember what happened last night with little to no success; at best guess Sans figured he spent the whole day at Grillby’s. While not unheard of behavior for Sans the massive hangover he suffered from didn’t happen all that often. The fact that his mouth tasted like ash and alcohol made him sigh exhaustedly. His eye lights snapped off as he rolled over onto his spine. 

“Fuck,” Sans mumbled. He bushed both of his hands over his eye sockets to still the burning within them. He didn’t want to start to cry again; he didn’t want to lose himself into that _rage_ again either. He could feel the itch of his magic within an eye socket and he tightened up his smile in response. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck. Fuck. **Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.**_ ” 

**_can't lose control not here not now paps is in the other room fuck paps fuck his dust everywhere in the snow couldn’t get it all couldn’t fuck paps no the kid they didn’t again they nothing but dust dust everywhere dust over everything and paps paps won’t smile no more won’t greet paps paps oh god paps why why did they how could they why oh fuck please please no paps papyrus no no no no no no nonononononono no!_ ** ****

Sans twitched, and then completely vanished from his bed. The brush of his magic whipped about him and twisted him upright. He shifted his hands from his eye sockets and dropped out into the snow in Snowdin Forest, somewhere somewhat distantly to the left of the door to the ruins. Sans landed on his hands and knees. His grin twisted into a grimace and he screwed ups eye sockets closed to try and stave off the buildup of tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming. 

With his boney wrist Sans scrubbed the tears away even as his entire frame shook with phantom aches and pains. The nightmares weren’t new; the terrified ache in his SOUL, the phantom memory of Papyrus as he smiled and _forgave_ while he faded into dust never did quite leave him. Sans held fond feelings, buried deep down, but he could never remember what built those fond feelings towards the little _dirty brother killer_. The only bits and pieces that he ever remembered with such a bright clarity _happened to be the day Papyrus died_. 

With a feral scream Sans let out the build of magic until it twisted and tore at the forest trees. It lashed around him almost uncontrollably, followed the pitch and fall of his screaming until magically Sans felt spent. He collapsed completely, face first into the snow, bones practically smoking from the overexertion. Sans just breathed, felt his ribs rise and fall with the motion. He let the ice of the snow twist through the very marrow of his bones; he let it chill him, pull at the aches and pains like some sort of visceral reminder. 

Sans didn’t quite drift off to sleep in the snow; he might be prone to naps in the oddest of places—Papyrus’ laundry basket came to mind quickly enough—but even he knew better than to risk unconsciousness in the snow. He knew better to risk it in battle too, but Sans felt like he might’ve made that fumble at some point and boy did that rub his bones completely raw. He laid there for a while longer before shakily Sans pushed himself up to his feet. 

“Heh. Haven’t lost my cool that bad since…” Sans mumbled to himself, and then paused to think back. “…since I can remember,” Sans finished with a sort of confused grin. He rubbed at his skull, took a fumbled step forward, and drunkenly swayed when he moved. “Ugh. Must’ve…took more outta me…than…I thought,” Sans grunted and practically collapsed over a downed tree. 

Nervously Sans glanced around the newest clearing to Snowdin Forest, and winced. 

“Shit,” he breathed out, eye sockets snapped open wide. 

**_okay that’s more than just loosin’ my damn cool._ **

In hindsight Sans figured that perhaps the compounded memory of—Sans grimaced a grin and let his eye lights snap off; he forced himself not to think about it. The destruction around him spelled enough of the trouble that inevitably aimed in his direction anyway. With limbs that trembled and ached, and each step that swayed, Sans headed deeper into the forest. He knew the door nestled into the cave wall somewhere nearby, and a check in on Tori might just relax the tension that wound around his skeleton like nothing else.

 It helped that Sans didn’t even have enough magic to take a shortcut back home at this point anyway. 

* * *

At some point Sans drifted off, propped against the door to the ruins just outside of Alphys’ camera’s view. The faint knock against the door woke him up with a start; he jerked enough that he smashed the back of his skull against the door hard which brought forth a sharp curse.

  _“Oh my, are you okay my friend?”_

Tori’s voice gave Sans a moment of pause, and then he huffed out a faint laugh. His joints seemed to go slack with relief at the realization Tori still _lived_. 

**_she's not dust yet there’s still hope._ ** ****

“Heh, sorry,” Sans laughed nervously and rubbed at the back of his skull in an attempt to soothe the headache. Already he’d goofed up more than he wanted to admit; he took a shortcut while hungover, demolished a section of the forest, and finally fell asleep against the door. Yeah, Sans felt rather upset with himself all things considered. “Tibia honest I guess I worked myself too hard.” 

_“Oh dear. Shouldn’t you be at home?”_

Sans hunched down into his jacket; his eye sockets slipped shut as he shrugged with a faint hum. “Nah. I wouldn’t miss your sansational jokes for the world. They’re just too humerus to avoid even when I’m bone tired.” He felt his grin get a little sincerer at the soft giggles that came from behind the door. 

_“Well I’m glad,”_ Tori laughed softly. _“I’m sorry I missed you yesterday. It must be rather bonely out in the snow there.”_

**_yesterday?_** Sans forced himself not to react aside from a half-hearted shrug. 

“Hey, wasn’t too bad,” Sans said distractedly. “The cold just goes through me, you know?” 

_“Yes, I’m sure…”_  

Sans listened, and waited, but Tori didn’t say anything further after that. 

“Hey? Everything okay over there?” Sans knocked his head back and winced. When Tori didn’t respond again he knocked lightly. “Knock, knock.” 

_“…oh! Whose there?”_  

“Catch,” Sans said as he hunkered down a little bit. His SOUL felt just a bit lighter. 

_“Catch who?”_

“Gesundheit!” Sans waited until Tori devolved into giggles. “Say, it’s great to ketchup and all but…you okay over there?” 

_“You’re so sweet to worry,”_ Tori hummed softly. _“I’m fine.”_  

Sans waited, but she didn’t say anything about a promise. He hesitated for a moment, then cautiously asked, “Keeping busy? You know only the skeleton in the snow’s supposed to get bonely, right?” She didn’t say anything further and Sans debated another knock, knock joke when Tori shuffled and made a faint surprised sound. 

_“…oh, yes. Sorry if I sound distracted, my friend. There’s…a lot on my mind.”_

“You know Pap always says sharing’s caring,” Sans leaned back until he could stare up at the distant, almost invisible ceiling. “I might be only a pile of bones cleverly disguised as a skeleton in a hoodie, but….” 

_“Oh, no. It’s okay. Thank you though.”_

**_okay. that's not normal. where's the promise?_ ** ****

“You…uh…you sure?” Sans asked hesitantly. 

_“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so absentminded today!”_ Tori laughed at herself. _“I…might not be around a lot from now on. I thought I should warn you.”_

Sans sat upright almost instantly. “Did something happen?” 

_“Hm? Oh, well, yes but…I have it under control.”_

**_and that sounded ominous._ ** ****

Sans fished around for an appropriate type of pun to catch Tori’s attention and lighten the fear in his heart. “You don’t happen to have a bee hanging out there?” 

_“What? Why do you ask?”_

“Cuz it sounds like it’s gotten up in your bonnet,” Sans said cautiously. 

_“Oh no, no, I’m perfectly fine. I have to go make some breakfast now. You get some rest, friend. I’d hate to hear you’d lost your head somewhere in the cold!”_

Sans dug his hands into his jacket, clenched them into fists. 

“Yeah. You, uh. Keep safe too,” he stuttered out, but already he could hear Tori’s footsteps gain distance. Sans hunkered down, tried to think, tried to put together what just happened. Normally day one of a reset meant the kid arrived, wandered through the ruins, finally passed out somewhere maybe. Day two Tori made him make a promise, and a few hours later the kid comes tumbling out. Things like that didn’t change beside minor, conversation variances. Those variances Sans could ignore and focus on the bullet points, the pieces that stayed completely the same time after time, day after day. 

This day two Tori didn’t make him promise her to keep the kid safe. The bullet points didn’t exist. Something fundamental, somewhere, changed. 

**_what…changed…?_ ** ****

Sans pushed himself up and hobbled down the road. He needed to head to the basement back at home. He needed to look through his notebook, maybe steal some of Alphys’ cameras and hook himself up a network in the ruins to keep an eye on things. If the kid thought they could get away with toying with Tori, with himself, with _Paps_ like this Sans would show them—something. Something, yeah. Sans scrubbed his hand over his skull, felt it throb painfully in time with his out-of-control thoughts. He just dearly hoped something didn’t go wrong while he tried to figure out _what happened._

* * *

_Darkness twisted and curled at the edges; blurred and swallowed shapes, leeched all light from around it. Leached all everything, swallowed and encompassed the world until distantly, remotely, nothing but the darkness remained. Dreaming, dripping, daunting darkness that encapsulated everything; absorbed and took and never gave back. The world turned into slithering wetness within its confines, greyscale and broken and twisted beyond all belief—all understanding._

_Home, heart, magic, **determination** —existence here wasn’t meant to be. Yet somehow, still, memories and thoughts and feelings persisted. History faded to nothing, but history enveloped everything. All of time became meaningless, and all of time became **meaning**. The confusing, contradicting, collapsible nature of the void ensured that no one would escape it. That no one wanted to visit it._

_It broke those who could see within its confines, those who could manipulate it into reality._

**_What is reality? What is nothing? What is existence?_ ** ****

_A sigh, a flop, a thought, a ponder, a wonder….a giggling gasp of enormity._

**_You shouldn’t be here!_ ** ****

_Tickling senses that couldn’t sense the change in the permeable world. Twisted and daunted and thoughts turned in and around themselves._

**_Naughty, naughty. Go back home and rest. Go back to your world._ ** ****

_Echoing vastness of nothing. Sightlessness and insight into everything and anything and nonexistence all at once. Words reverberated with meaning and without; futility controlled all._

**_Go. Shoo. You are not wanted._ ** ****

_“Not wanted, huh? Well that’s rather rude.”_

_Tap, tap, tap—the rap, rap, rapping of an existence. The twisting, curling of reality threatened to impose upon an unreality._

_“Sheesh, you need to decorate. Or get out more. This place’s looking a little bleak and unenlightened.”_

**_You are not wanted!_ ** ****

_“Rude.”_

**_Go away!_ ** ****

_“Wasn’t talking to you anyway.”_

_Silence, a beat, a twist of—something._

_“Say dad, how long are you gonna just sit there and ignore me? Got nothing to say for yourself?”_

_A shift, a moment of changed perspective. Hands in pockets, a grin upon a face that existed as dust and undust—as life and unlife. Frozen in a time long, long forgotten yet that ran in the here and now._

_“O…kay.” Shifted, wide, larger—perpetual smile on an imperfect face. “You mind telling me what’s up, then?”_

**_Go. Away! It’s none of your business!_ ** ****

_Perspective change, away from memories of nothingness of pain and twisted tearing that wanted to build and break. Another image, small and flesh and sightless, soundless—watching, watching, watching…._

_“Geez, dad, used to be I could never get you to shut up before.”_

_You._

_Are not._

_Real._

_Dragged thing, drawn out, pulled down and away. Whispers and wasted breath—forgotten twists in time._

_Interesting._

**_You heard the man. Not real, not wanted. Tata!_ ** ****

_Unreality re-imposed itself upon the world; blessed silence, blessed nothingness. Forgotten memories strained and pulled and that face—sightless, blank, and broken stared up. A small, twisted sort of smile sad and unwanted and then a blink and—_

_Huh._

_That._

_Red, red, red, red, **red** —twisted **red.**_

_That shouldn’t happen._

_Giggling, psychotic, broken— **red that covered everything with an embittered smile all teeth and—** secrets._

_Should it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to figure out how to end this chapter, primarily since it focused on Sans and it felt awkward to pull in another character--or even try to switch to a combination of Toriel/Frisk next for focus. Then I knew **how** I wanted to end it, but not how to write that end. Until suddenly I did, and here we are.
> 
> Next chapter actually is going to focus on something a little different, a new character into the scene. I'm still trying to figure out how to write the Frisk/Toriel interactions and how Frisk wants to stay in the Ruins and what that all entails. I don't just want to skip ahead and leave everything up to your imagination, but I don't want to turn this into like a series of snippets or drabbles on Frisk's life.
> 
> I have a plot and an idea, the issue is how to formulate that and still provide character growth. I need a concept buddy. Ah, well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, more than a day has passed in the Underground. Grillby visits a friend.

Fingers gently picked up the worn photograph in its frame, and with a soft sigh that sparked a faint hiccup in his flame, Grillby rolled his thumb over the faces tiredly. Ever since they were forced into the cave systems underground things just fell apart. Grillby couldn’t count how long it’d even been, but he knew what the passage of time did to the others. The fire elemental shook his head, set the photo down, and tugged on the large parka that hung beside the back door to his restaurant. 

Assured that the material covered every bit of exposed flame that could inevitably be stung by the snow outside, Grillby picked up the heavy bag of food and supplies and slipped outside into the dead of the night. He glanced over in the direction of the skeleton household as he pressed the snow goggles onto his face firmly. The lights were on in the windows, and with an exasperated shake of his head he turned and trudged further into the cold. Every couple of months Grillby gathered together food and packed it away for the night where he inevitably left his bar for the one delivery he made. 

Night or day Snowdin never changed. Grillby let his gaze drift up toward the distant ceiling of the cave system with a soft sight. The light posts provided from Hotland lit up the main thoroughfare of Snowdin easily enough; the crystals powered by the sentries’ magic lit up the littler used paths toward the Ruins. Grillby chose neither route, instead he slipped in through the forest and trees and hunkered down into his parka further when the cold threatened him. 

After an hour of a roundabout traveled path through the forest Grillby slipped up to the cavern wall and edged his way over to the door. He huffed lightly, enjoyed the way his breath steamed the air in front of his face, and then with meticulously careful movements Grillby set down his precious package and slipped off the parka and the goggles. He shook out his hands, twisted his neck and tried to loosen up his limbs—Grillby’d lived a long, long time and some things didn’t get easier with age. Slowly he unwound, began to lose shape, and with concentrated effort he flickered through the cracks in the doorway. 

On the other side Grillby reformed, stumbled, and took a moment to reorient himself. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then turned. With a slight squint Grillby worked the door’s mechanism and carefully hauled it open. He kept mindful of the snow, and once the path opened completely he snagged his parka and the precious delivery of food. He pulled both of them into the hallway that connected the Ruins to Snowdin, and then shoved the door shut with a faint grunt and a twist of fire. For a moment, once the door clicked shut, Grillby leaned against it to catch his breath. He definitely did not have the same stamina of his youth. 

Once the moment passed Grillby knelt down and fished out his glasses from his parka and slipped them onto his face. Then he folded the parka up, placed it into a corner with the snow goggles on top, and hefted up the rather large bag of food. He started his way down the long hallway, bag clasped tightly in his hands. He eyed the eventual stairs up with slight disdain, especially when he noted that despite previous suggestions they still weren’t remotely secured. Sometimes Grillby wondered why he even tried; with a faint huff and a twist to his flame he started the ascent. 

The entryway to the home welcomed him like every other time he’d entered the space. He shook his head at the sight of the old calendar, and the photos of the flowers on the wall. Silently Grillby turned right and headed toward the living room. He noted the lack of fire in the fire grate with faint surprise, followed quickly by the lack of anyone else. Ah, well, the lack of a presence didn’t necessarily mean anything bad in the long run, although Grillby ran a quick sweep once he settled down his cargo into the kitchen. He let the curl of his flames from his ankles spread, let the presence of his magic quickly wash through the entire house. He stuttered in surprise at _two_ faint soul-beats off in the direction of the bedrooms. One burned like a signal flare on his senses—utterly _human_ in the way it dripped _crimson_ which gave Grillby enough pause to turn and peer out the kitchen doorway in concern. 

The soft, comforting feel of _perseverance_ that Grillby knew so well stopped him from the urge to follow through on his thought to abandon his set task. Especially when he felt the beat stir faintly on his magical senses. Assured that at the very least the monster he’d come here for still lived Grillby began to unload the materials from his bag. He slipped open the fridge and arched a mostly invisible eyebrow when he saw the rows of brand name chocolate that still settled there. 

Honestly, she hadn’t eaten a single one. Grillby chuckled faintly and carefully loaded in the boxed snails, fruits, vegetables, and the few chunks of meat he’d been able to procure. He added two new boxes of brand name chocolate that he stacked up into the fridge itself, followed by a few frozen goods and other household staples that were requested. Once he filled the fridge Grillby turned his attention toward the cupboards and began to restock those as well. He focused on his task and didn’t bother to turn around when he felt the faint ping of _perseverance_ from behind him. 

“So,” Grillby drawled out, words slow and measured while he placed boxed items away into the cupboard space. “A’human, m’lady?” Grillby paused, and his flame stuttered, the only sign that he might not have meant to say _that_ in particular. Despite the faint flush underneath his glasses Grillby forced himself to move on, words almost incomprehensible as he muttered apologies. 

“Sir Grillby,” Toriel hummed, “I’m fine.” 

“I din—” Grillby twisted to look at her, tried to find the words he wanted to say. Eventually he just sighed and dug his fingers into what approximated as his forehead. “I’ve ye delivery put in the shelves.” Grillby tilted his head toward the new empty bag. 

“Thank you,” Toriel smiled sweetly at him and Grillby twisted his head to look away, somewhat tired and somewhat embarrassed. “Your room is already made up.” 

“…better t’leave,” Grillby shifted and scooped up the bag, seemingly unaware that half of what he tried to say didn’t translate. 

“I insist,” Toriel chided lightly. “In the morning you can make some of your wonderful food and then be on your way.” Toriel placed one hand on Grillby’s shoulder, the other gently shifted to lead the tired elemental to the closed off room she saved for him. “Besides, we haven’t gotten the chance to catch up yet, have we?” 

Grillby tilted his head slightly to view her out of the corner of his eyes. He tried to gather what little understanding he could from the now humbly living monarch of the underground to little avail. 

“An’tha human?” Grillby questioned. 

“Deserves to know where I get the majority of my food supplies,” Toriel said loftily. When Grillby just stared she poked him in the shoulder. “You’re tired, my friend.” 

Grillby sighed, but nodded ascent towards Toriel’s demands. Normally he would sleep here anyway; he knew his reluctance stemmed from the nature of the soul he sensed. The dripping feel of _crimson_ always made him a little frustrated in the long run. It reminded him too much of times long ago that he’d rather avoid. 

“They’ve what, now?” Grillby murmured as Toriel led him down the hall and passed the human’s door. “Sev’n? Eight?” 

“Too many,” Toriel replied softly. “I refuse to lose this one, Sir Grillby.” 

“Din’call me that,” Grillby mumbled. He only ever heard ‘Sir Grillby’ from Toriel these days, and if Grillby were honest he didn’t miss the epithet. When Toriel gave him a look he rolled his eyes heavenward. 

“Your room,” Toriel said sweetly. 

“…” Grillby waved lightly and slipped through the already open door. He didn’t even realize that what he said ended up not being intelligible. 

Toriel giggled softly—she knew just how tired the elemental felt by the way he spoke, and she waited until he collapsed onto the bed face first before she shut the door softly. Like a monster several years younger than his actual age Grillby slipped off into dreamland within seconds, completely unaware that Toriel even left the room. Not even the glaring presence of the human could stop him from his rest; the day lasted far too long, after all.

* * *

Morning came and settled into early afternoon by the time Grillby rolled out of the guest bedroom and into the kitchen. Blearily he stepped into the space, a mug of something shoved into his hands before he could say anything. Almost distantly he could hear faint giggles, so soft that for a moment Grillby thought he’d imagined them. He took a sip from the mug and felt the taste of alcohol burn across his synapses. It jolted him into wakefulness the way coffee did for some monsters. For a brief moment after that first jolt Grillby stretched, flame curled a bit higher, before he settled back down. He glanced to Toriel who smiled at him, and then shifted his gaze over towards the source of an awed sort of gasp. 

It took him a second to register just how the human child looked, and he froze—everything about him suddenly eerily still and solid for all of a minute. He couldn’t quite help it, for one second Grillby swore he saw a small little humanling that once roamed Home alongside a baby goat boss monster. The minute Grillby stood still he noted the differences—skin too dark, hair the wrong texture, sweater a different set of colors—and then he shifted. 

“M’rnin’,” Grillby greeted, took another sip of the alcoholic beverage Toriel handed him, and gave the queen a side glance with an invisibly raised eyebrow. 

“Sir Grillby brought us some supplies,” Toriel said brightly. The humanling looked to him, and he dipped his head and took another sip; then Grillby set the cup down and began to gather some of the supplies he’d brought in order to make breakfast. “Today we’ll be treated toward his culinary skills, my child. What would you like?” 

When the humanling said nothing Grillby didn’t question it. Perhaps the small thing felt too awed by the fire elemental’s presence. When Toriel responded with a clap and a cheer of, “Oh you silly child! Now be honest, what would you like for breakfast?” Grillby twisted around to get a view of small fingers that twisted into _hands_. He eyed the motions critically, noted the archaic sentence structure, and then huffed a sigh. He settled down the pots and pans and, with a crackle of flame, caught the humanling’s attention. 

“Like this,” Grillby said slowly, and twisted his own fingers into _hands_ to demonstrate. “Change this one _here_ to _this_ —sounds better.” 

The humanling stared at him, and then in a flurry began to speak. Grillby wanted to wince; he couldn’t count the years it’d been since he’d seen _hands_ this old. Did humans not advance the language with monsters gone? Grillby shook his head. Carefully he reconstructed each of their sentences with a sort of patience that made Toriel smile. 

“Sir Grillby,” Toriel lightly touched his shoulder and Grillby jerked. 

“M’lady,” he said in a rush; his fire curled around in shock for a moment and subconsciously he stated a rather old expletive in hands. The humanling’s giggles caught his attention, followed by Toriel’s frown, and Grillby flushed. “Em…breakfast.” 

Without a word Grillby twisted back around and got to work. He could educate the small humanling on the proper form of hands later—and maybe remind Toriel that the language changed in the ensuing passage of time. His previous reservations about the creature faded into focused preparations on food.

* * *

At some point in the day—during breakfast, after it, Grillby couldn’t quite tell—he’d taken to speaking in hands just as much as without. Every sentence he or Toriel said allowed kept time with the comments in hands. The entire day in the end held far more peaceful moments to relax than Grillby anticipated with such a young humanling in his presence. The starkness of the crimson that practically bled from them felt somewhat muted in the day time, although Grillby couldn’t fathom why. 

At the end of the day, bound up in his parka, Grillby finally felt ready to leave. A bar needed to be tended to, and while normally he closed up shop for the whole day when it came to delivery time, he couldn’t help but miss the warmth of his home nestled in the coldness of Snowdin. He sighed, hands clasped around the snow goggles in front of the only exit monsterkind crafted between the Ruins and Snowdin. 

“Thank you for today, Sir Grillby,” Toriel hummed. She swept him into a hug, arms clasped around his chest and muzzle pressed to his cheek. She’d bent herself down enough to even grip him like this, he could tell in the way her back subtly arched—and while the sudden grasp surprised him Grillby reached up and patted her arm. 

“A good day,” Grillby agreed lightly. “Eight is good. A good number.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Toriel laughed. “My child is not ‘eight’ Sir Grillby.” 

“Eight, an'a humanling,” Grillby countered. “M’lady,” he added after a moments pause. Toriel burst into laughter again and let him go. He turned to look up at her, and watched her wipe tears away from her eyes. 

“Do tell the others to get in touch, will you?” she asked softly. “I haven’t heard from them in so long….” 

For a moment Grillby didn’t say anything; he fell into himself a little, thoughts twirled in worry, before he nodded once. 

“I’ll…talk t’Rivers,” he said cautiously. “When Rivers next in Snowdin.” Toriel nodded. “An’ I’ve got Gerson.” Toriel arched an eyebrow, curious, at the way Grillby glanced off to the side. “…somewhere.” 

“Of course you do,” Toriel patted Grillby on the shoulder and ignored the way he twisted lightly, a faint flicker of unease. “What about…?” 

Grillby shook his head. “He din’talk t’none these days,” Grillby said shortly. “I’ll try but I’ve made no bones on answerin'.” 

Toriel sighed, and Grillby looked down to avoid the utter disappointment he knew crossed her features. He agreed with her in the long run; they’d been far too out of touch these days. Awkwardly the elemental rubbed at the back of his neck and began to tug on his goggles. He paused, shifted from foot to foot, and then said softly, “Lady Toriel….” 

Toriel glanced up. 

“Eight…watch ‘em,” he said. “They’ve got…” He struggled to find the words, the ringing feel of _crimson_ so familiar. “They’ve got _him_ ,” Grillby said after a while, and then winced. “ _Them_.” 

Toriel blinked, and then bleated a short laugh that made Grillby jump. She patted his shoulder again, and opened her mouth to say something, when a little form barreled right into Grillby’s midsection. Grillby wheezed, his entire shape jolted out of alignment for a second before he glanced down to see the humanling wrapped around his knees now. 

“Oh child why are you—you shouldn’t be here!” Toriel lurched forward. 

_“Don’t go!”_

Grillby stilled, stuttered. _Oh_. They could speak, the little humanling, but the way they winced and halted on their words caught Grillby’s attention. 

_“I.”_

Grillby patted their head gently, tilted their chin up, and then knelt down. 

“Humanling, go t'bed,” he said. 

_“Go. Don’t. Please!”_

“My child?” Toriel hesitated, and then the humanling twisted around and grasped her by the legs next. Grillby sighed. “My child you need to go upstairs now. It is not safe here.” 

_“Promise. Won’t. **Mom**.”_

It took a second, but Grillby parsed the words easily enough once he’d gotten the hang of the stuttered speech. He sighed, eased the child back from Toriel, and lightly tapped their nose. For the moment, concerns were forgotten. 

“I’ve work,” Grillby said. “Ye’ll see me soon. When th’next delivery’s t’come.” The kid sniffled, looked up at him. “Just keep here, an’safe.” 

_“Yes!”_

Grillby nodded and released them, looked up at Toriel and smiled. “Eight. A good one, m’lady.” He twisted words into hands— _they won’t leave; they want to stay with you_ —and Toriel relaxed a smidgeon. 

“That door is dangerous,” Toriel chided the little humanling, “only Grillby can come and go. Not you or I, okay?” They watched the child nod, head bobbed quicker. They looked the Grillby, twisted their hands— 

_Stay safe. Don’t dust. Come back._

—and Grillby nodded his ascent. Only once he found himself back in the safety of his bar he wondered what set the child off in the first place; how did they know to come to the pathway beneath the house? What did _they_ have to fear? He felt on edge, and for a moment he wondered. 

He wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grillby is part of a small group of people you'll learn more about, over time, and yes that group of people includes Gerson. Interested in how the fire elemental works in this story or just about some of my ideas in it? Go ahead and drop me a line on [my tumblr.](http://xadoheandterra.tumblr.com/ask) I'll answer all, or maybe none ;D

**Author's Note:**

> This particular story has ties to several of my little headcanons, branching theories on how monster biology works, Sans' 1HP stat, and how Sans got the job as Asgore's Judge (alongside pre-war thoughts and headcanons) -- at some point I'll just post the whole shebang up, but for clarity's sake since this will come up in the story, here's some details about the previous fallen humans:
> 
> The **last human** to fall was the yellow souled human. Her name was Adla, which means Justice, and she was very interested in western movies. She'd been camping on Mount Ebott when she fell down into the underground, and she was somewhere in the middle on age-range between all the previous human children. She had a toy gun with her and cowboy clothes, and of the humans available got the furthest--her goal to bring Justice to Asgore for all of the deaths previous, and free the monsters simultaneously because it wasn't their fault their king went nuts, right?
> 
>  **Green** is Charity, and the oldest of the children who fell down. She was actually pushed by a jealous friend who didn't want her to survive--after all a fall fro that length kills, doesn't it? She didn't really have much of a goal--she just wanted to learn more about cooking and maybe get home so she could report her not-friend for attempting to murder her. She treated pretty much every monster with as much kindness as she could, often by giving them meals. Although without magic they weren't very edible.
> 
>  **Purple** is Kosta, who learned as much as he could from Toriel before he snuck off in the middle of the night. Kosta ended up with Gerson for a long while, studying and learning as much as he could. He wanted to learn how monster's worked, since humans didn't remember, and compare that to how humans worked. He hoped to find a scientific way to free the monsters, although he was leery about freeing them at all. He's the second oldest.
> 
>  **Blue** is Amena, who was ten years old (one of the few with a definable ages) and who loved ballet. There was a car crash and Amena, injured and dazed, ended up stumbling through Mount Ebott and into the underground. Amena did end up killing some of the monsters as she passed through until her own death, out of fear from their attacks and not out of malice itself.
> 
>  **Orange** is Valor, the third oldest of the children who went to Mount Ebott on a dare. Out of all of the children Valor ended up the most destructive, but only because he refused to be pushed around and brushed aside. He took things a bit too far sometimes, and ultimately he paid for it with a fairly short journey through the underground.
> 
>  **Light Blue/Cyan** is Subira, a young girl, the youngest out of all of the children in fact. She'd gotten lost on the mountain, and she didn't make it past the ruins. Subira arrived after Chara, and she was the first soul collected. Toriel gave her willingly to Asgore; she perished in an accident.


End file.
